justwrite 7 september

preparing to write a letter the sentences make it out before the words they are herding themselves over the edge of my tongue rushing along to my fingers but lingering past the outlasting castaways the copperhead islands the other songs that come from outer space and chase each other into the abyss destroying the void of hissing flora too and the truth is changing in each stomachtwist the moment missed when it would have been easy to say and in fact there is no opinion worth its weight in fear there are clear parameters the diameter is half of the quadruple of the radius and if that comes in handy then I’ve got some fresh ideas that’ll really knock your teeth in with wind and fury but no sound we are rounding the next corner prepping the next mourner for celebration the fascination from an external perspective leaves the self-directive insights to keeping me up nights and trailing through the days in the most distracting ways there is no grace to save those footsteps having leapt several steps that seemed upcoming running to keep pace with everything else the self the other the dark the brothers of the holidays the cooler shades and the brighter films sparkling in their predictions of what’s to come what’s undone the next round of groundbearing fruits will fly about in cahoots with chaos tossing salads and glances and ladybug dances why bother with sense when the sentences won’t pass the mustard your way down the table unable to justify the deciding factors the tractors and the lollipops the words that come to mind that drop their drippings into gravy boats and sail along the highway going your way or my way and it’s hard to say if they’re the same but there’s no name to such games just sleep to keep deepening and tea to keep steepening like words pressed into books like flowers drying with crying with wintercold dictionaries and other theories pressed tested passed lasting strawberry jam and brownbread knickerbockers the talkers and the listeners the cobwebs and the antelope we all want our own sheepdogs we all have secret dreams that we keep on our bedside tables and I am imagining such stability is to grave to see through to the end befriending opportunities and fleeing sprees of discontent